During my years in Scotland I was blessed to live in a rural community with wise farmers who were willing to teach a toonser yankee quine (Translation: American woman from the city) how to read the natural signs around me and plan accordingly. Right now those who are in the know in rural Aberdeenshire are preparing for a long, deep winter (based on a bumper crop of Rowan berries and the arrival of large flocks of waxwings for whom yon berries are a delight). Mind you, no one has ever done a double-blind study of the efficacy of using rowan berries and waxwings in predicting the severity of winter. But if I were living in rural Aberdeenshire today, I would make sure the coal bunker was full and extra candles and matches were on hand for power cuts - signs read!
We are almost to the Season of Advent - my favorite season in the church year. Advent brings me a sense of joy and peace - of comfort - that right now I desperately need. But it is also the season that calls us to pay attention - notice - read the signs! In many ways it has been a bruising year, culminating in the November election trip through the looking glass. Reading those signs gives me no peace, comfort or joy. As a white, college educated middle class woman, my privilege will protect me from much of the tsunami of injustice that may be heading our way. All I might face is an assault on my freedom to make choices about my body - and the ongoing pay inequity, discrimination and misogyny that all women face (especially those of us who work in vocations previously or currently dominated by men). By comparison to many of my dear friends, colleagues, congregants and family members, I will get off easy. Privilege protects me.
Reading these signs deeply disturbs me. How did we get here? How did hate speech get normalized? What can we do to understand the circumstances and choices that landed us here, and how can we use wisdom and insight to move us through this time of deep division? Is there a way to heal the gaping wound that separates people in America and endangers so many?
Healing and reconciliation have been parts of my ministry since Moses was a child. I have worked with many conflicted churches over the years - and a few in which the chasm separating factions was like a ten mile wide flaming moat filled with hungry crocodiles and poison. Those are hard swamps to drain. In my ministry, all the churches but one said that they wanted to heal, but not all were willing or at a place where they could do the hard work needed to bring about deep and true healing (with one church wanting to continue the war until their opponents were beaten into submission or vanquished - sigh).
My brother recently had back surgery and developed a post-operative infection. In order for him to heal, it was not enough for the doctors to treat with lotion the redness and swelling of his back. They instead needed to drain the infection that had developed around his spine and treat him with antibiotics for an extended period of time - getting to the root of the problem. The redness and swelling were symptoms of the infection - treating them as the problem would ultimately prevent healing. Churches that adopt the "lotion" strategy of soothing the symptoms without addressing the underlying causes rarely heal - usually they just wallpaper over the problem and glory on until it pops up (unexpectedly!) in another way. Symptom relief is very seductive - especially when you are in pain. But if chosen as the only response to a challenge, it will eventually fail and always disappoint.
Scholars wiser than I are providing insight into the dynamics that led to the rise of the alt-right and the election phenomenon that caught so many of us by surprise. But we must not be seduced into thinking that hate speech and a Trump presidency are the issues - they are symptoms of a deeper problem that needs addressing. These wise minds can point us toward the conversations needed to bring true healing to our nation. But are we are willing to learn how to have hard conversations outside of the protective bubble or echo chamber in which most of us live?
The church can be a place where we can practice having hard conversations. Perhaps if we practice within our bubble, we will gain confidence for having tough conversations outside our protective zone where they can facilitate healing and positive change. Perhaps if we deliberately spend time associating with people who do not echo our thoughts and feelings, we will learn to see the people behind the labels and be reminded that they, too, are beloved of God and created in God's very image.
The day after the election, I found myself thinking that I needed to do a three or six month swap with a pastor in rural Indiana - I needed to be immersed in the experience of living with people whose viewpoint is the polar opposite of my own. I had to break bread with them, listen to them, visit them and have the experience of standing in their shoes and seeing the world through their eyes. Perhaps then I would understand their anger and fear. I have a sabbatical coming up in two years - perhaps that would be a constructive way to spend that time. But frankly I can think of seven thousand other ways I would rather spend my sabbatical (like watching waxwings eating Rowan berries)!
And therein lies the rub - the kinds of conversations needed to heal our nation are not easy or comfortable. Papering over them is much nicer to contemplate, as is going to war with those who disagree with me - especially when I make this a holy war to protect the vulnerable and marginalized. I can beat my evil opponent fair and square and save the oppressed - marching into hell for a heavenly cause! This kind of holy war has deep roots in Christianity, feels satisfying to contemplate and is the perfect way to perpetuate the problem.
I do not really want to go to war with anyone. And I do not want to see the civil liberties of others denied through white christian male heterosexist nationalism. How do I thread this needle?
I have no definitive answer to that question, but these steps might lead me in the right direction: I can read and learn. I can listen deeply to others who live outside of my protected echo chamber, and I can intentionally spend time with those who are not part of my tribe. I can make sure I am maintaining balance in my life between self care (including tribe time) and service. I can try to see others through God's eyes of love, and look for ways to follow the example of the angels and encourage others to not react from a place of fear. And I can remember these wise words of Rumi: Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have build against it. A full time job, to be sure.
To foster self care I decided to be French for Advent. Some churches in France maintain the tradition of celebrating Advent for the forty days before Christmas (a custom also found in some Celtic and Eastern Christian communities). Since Advent is my very favorite season in the church year, I decided that this year early is definitely better. I dusted off a beloved Advent devotional written by a French-American monk and was delighted to open its pages on November 15th. Soon the Advent wreath will come out and new beeswax candles will scent the air with the fragrance I associate with Advent comfort and peace. The television will be turned off and I will spend more time in silence. I hope these rituals of spiritual self care will open me more deeply to God's presence and movement - helping me to dance more gracefully with God. Perhaps that will fortify me to face the signs I see on the horizon and engage in responses that will foster honest conversations and healing.
If only the only signs needing to be addressed were flocks of waxwings and their beloved berries!
Drawing strength and comfort from an early Advent fire,
Kim
